Leaving the gardens behind, Magdala made for the lake and the boathouse at the base of the palace grounds.
A long dock ran from the boathouse to the shimmering water. As she rounded the corner, she collided with someone.
The person stumbled, and she caught their arm to steady them.
“Huxley?” she exclaimed, shoving him away in disgust.
“There you are,” he said. “I assumed you’d come.”
“Where is he?” Magdala demanded. “What have you done to him?”
Huxley raised his eyebrows. “Where is who?”
“If you have harmed him, I will kill you. I will wring your neck!”
“I always admired your loyalty, Magdala. I thought I could trust you. But you never slipped him the amenite, did you?”
“I did,” Magdala snapped. “I did, and he said he didn’t kill Julian. Oh, and if you’re wondering how he survived, there was an antidote. Funny how you didn’t tell me it was toxic.”
“I thought you knew,” he said scornfully.
“Asherton didn’t kill Julian.”
Huxley set his teeth on edge. “I don’t believe that and neither should you.”
Magdala turned from demands to pleas. “Please, where is he?”
He let out a spiteful laugh. “You fell for him, didn’t you? You pathetic creature, you fell in love with your charge. What will your father say …”
Magdala lurched forward and gripped Huxley’s lapels, shaking him. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?”
“Calm down, gracious.” He struggled free and straightened his jacket. “See for yourself.”
With a disgruntled sniff, Huxley strode past her, disappearing into the shadowy garden.
Magdala looked down the dock. A lone figure stood silhouetted against the shining water.
“Ash!” Magdala called. He didn’t turn, so she sprinted toward him, her footsteps echoing hollowly on the wood planks. “ASH!”
He startled, as if he hadn’t heard her before, and as he turned, she expected to find a knife in his heart, or a shotfire to crack the stillness and blow his brains out. But nothing happened. The wind blew in the trees and the water lapped against the pilings. Magdala crashed into him, gripping his arms.
“What are you doing out here?” she half-sobbed. Her eyes roamed the gardens and the palace walls, the glowing windows where a sniper could be hiding even now, lining up a shot. “You bloody idiot! What are you doing out here alone?”
He didn’t reply, but his eyes were traveling over the palace, too.
“I thought you were dead!” It came out as an angry sob. “I couldn’t find you, and I thought …” She punched him hard inthe shoulder and he stumbled back a step. “Why would you come out here alone? Why? You bloody, stupid fool!” She advanced on him, tried to shove him, but he caught her arms and pulled her against his chest. “I hate you! You’re so stupid and cruel, and I hate you!”
“I know. I know,” he said softly. He laid his hand on the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.
“What were you thinking?” A scream of rage burned in her throat. She swallowed it. “You’re exposed! Anyone could take a shot at you.”
“Yes, exactly, so let’s get inside.” He turned, pulling her toward the boathouse, but she wrenched her arm from his hands and stared at him, aghast.
“You … you did this on purpose,” she stammered. “You saw I was gone, and you came out here to bait them while I was out of the way.”
He ran his hand through his hair and offered her a half shrug.
“How dare you!” She turned away from him, wanting to hit him. Wanting to push him clean off the edge of the dock. “You little son of a … howdareyou? You have no right to do that to me!”
